Normal
by notsing
Summary: Kid fic. Not real happy with this one as it hops about all over the place. I don't own Numb3rs.


Normal

NUMBERS! Think numbers! Let's see, movie film is made up of 24 frames per second. . . Oh God! Do people really DO that? No! Don't think about it, think numbers. . .so how many frames in an inch of film. . . WHO CARES? WATCH that celloid image on the screen in front of you! No! Think numbers!

But the numbers, for once, deserted Charlie. They scattered and danced away from him, no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them. His body was responing so violently to what he was watching that he couldn't force his brain to concentrate on the machanics of how the images were created.

The picture on the screen froze, then went black. The lights in the high school auditorium blazed on. Charlie blinked in the sudden light. He felt like he was surfacing, becoming aware of what was going on around him.

His classmates were cheering and clapping, and generally ignoring the school officials who were trying to restore order.

Charlie shrunk smaller in his seat, feeling overwhelmed and somewhat embarassed by what he had just seen in glorious detail. He was surrounded by sound, the rest of the seniors were laughing and amused by the images that made Charlie ashamed, even though he didn't know why he should feel ashamed.

Principal Thompson was screaming for order. Charlie cowered in his seat, wishing he understood the rest of the kids' reaction. There was so much he didn't understand, and he was suppose to understand everything. He was a GENIUS. Charlie felt a flicker of resentment. There was so MUCH he did understand, that NONE of his classmates, including his brother, could ever comprehend. But they didn't care. In fact, they seemed to think math was a big joke.

Charlie, on the other hand, desperately, wanted in on the joke. He was bitterly aware of the five years difference between him and the rest of the seniors. He was just starting through puberty, and though, intellectually, he understood it, he was still miserable. His body was childish, small and scrawny, and he had a gloomy feeling he was NEVER going to be big and buff.

Gym class was sheer torture. He couldn't possibly compete with the other boys, and in the showers he hid behind his towel as much as possible. He sneeked peeks at the other boys, especially Don, enviously, wondering if he would ever develope muscles like that.

His body was starting to sprout some hair in interesting places, but his face was still covered in peach fuzz. Don shaved every day.

The worst was his voice. He would be talking, and his voice would turn funny. At school, the kids would laugh, and at home Don snickered and even Mom and Dad fought smiles. Did Don's voice crack like that when he was younger? Charlie couldn't remember.

It would help to have somebody else going through this with him. But all the kids his own age were at middle school, and might as well be a million miles away. His classmates were hardly his peers, they were pretty much full-grown adults, with no sympathy for the prepubesent boy-genius in their midst.

And now they were jeering the teachers and staff while Charlie shivered in his seat, thinking about the movie. Did any of his classmates do that? Did Don? Charlie looked over to Val Eng, who seemed as amused as anyone else. Did she? WOULD she? No! Don't think about that! He forced himself to concentrate on Principal Thompson, as things quieted down.

Looking at the principal's face, he knew somebody and/or somebodies were going to be in a lot of trouble for this prank. He had a feeling he was very well-acquainted with at least one of the somebodies.

He wasn't alone in his suspicions. Principal Thompson headed straight for the row Don was sitting in and barked, "Eppes! Enjo! Anderson! Burnett! I know the four of you are responsible for this! Front and center! NOW!"

Even though Charlie knew he wasn't the Eppes the principal was referring to, he couldn't help shuddering. If Principal Thompson ever did talk to him like that Charlie would...piss his pants. Literally.

He watched in awe as his brother and the other three boys strode up to the principal. They seemed unimpressed with Thompson's obvious fury, which, of course, only made the principal angrier.

Don smirked, "What's the matter? Didn't you like the movie?" Immediately the auditorium broke out in whistles and cheers.

Principal Thompson whirled around, yelling, "Stop it! Stop! Don't encourage them!" Behind his back, Don bowed. More whistles and cheers. Thompson jerked back to face the four boys, glaring at Don. He knew very well who was the ringleader of this little band of trouble makers.

Finally quiet was restored, and the four boys were marched up the center aisle towards the office. Sheila Ratliff suddenly popped up, "Hey Don! Call me, and we'll re-enact that scene from the movie!" Pandemonium.

Charlie felt his jaw hanging open and shut it with a snap. Did Sheila mean she would do that to Don? That's what it sounded like. Charlie knew that Sheila was not a nice girl. Two years ago he had asked Don what was wrong with her that the other kids, especially the girls, didn't like her.

"She's easy," replied Don, then, seeing Charlie's blank face, added harshly, "She's a slut. Stay away from her." Charlie was insulted. He noticed Don didn't stay away from Sheila. Not liking to admit that he didn't know what a slut was, he decided to look it up.

The dictionary defined a slut as a slatternly woman. Charlie looked up slattern. A slattern was defined as a slovenly woman. Feeling he was getting the run-around, Charlie then looked up a sloven. The definition read: One who is careless of dress or cleanliness; one who is habitually untidy.

Charlie thought about that. Sheila didn't look or smell dirty to him. Her clothes, hair, face, and person looked as clean and neat as any of the other girls. Maybe her room was untidy? But how would the other kids know unless she had friends over. Besides, had any of these kids seen Don's room? Untidy didn't begin to cover it.

Maybe it was different for girls. Maybe it was that double standard Mom was always complaining about. If so, Charlie could see her point. It didn't seem fair that a girl would be looked down upon for a messy room while a boy was excused.

Of course, Charlie had thought this way two years ago, when he was a lot more innocent than he was now. Now he understood that a slut was a girl who had sex. It sounded as if she wanted to have sex with his brother.

When Charlie glanced at Val again, he noticed she was no longer smiling.

A month's detention! Thompson couldn't be serious! Worse, none of the boys could leave school that afternoon until their parents picked them up.

Don pointed out that his mother had to take Charlie to his special tutoring that afternoon (Charlie was released early from school for that reason), and his parents couldn't get back to the school until at least an hour after school was dismissed.

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Principal Thompson with a nasty smile. "You can wait in the outer office while I talk to your friends and their parents." Don grimaced, and resigned himself to the inevitable. At least he would have his homework done before he went home, there wouldn't be anything else to do while cooling his heels waiting for his parents.

When Margaret came to pick up Charlie, the secretary said, "Oh, Mrs. Eppes? Mr. Thompson needs to talk to you and your husband after school today. He understands it will be late because you have to wait for Charlie." Seeing Margaret's face, she quickly added, "This has nothing to do with Charlie. Don won't be released until you pick him up."

Margaret swallowed, feeling a chill creep through her body. What had that boy done now? "Okay. I'll have to get hold of my husband. We probably won't be here until a least an hour after school gets out."

The secretary nodded, "Principal Thompson already knows that. He'll wait on you."

Margaret hesitated, scanning the woman's face, and wishing she could ask what Don had done. Well, she would find out soon enough. She flicked a glance at her youngest, standing quietly and looking downcast. She could quiz Charlie, but that wasn't fair. Charlie needed to concentrate on math, not his brother's misbehavior.

When they got to the car, Charlie looked anxiously at his mother, "Are you going to ask me what Don did?"

Margaret gave him a tight smile, "No. That's Don's business. I'm sure Principal Thompson will fill me in."

She didn't miss the look of relief that flashed through Charlie's big brown eyes. Glad that at least she seemed to be doing a good job of mothering THIS son, she ruffled Charlie's curls, "Just worry about the numbers, okay? Not your brother."

She was rewarded with Charlie's bright smile. 'Don has a beautiful smile too,' she thought, painfully. 'I just never get to see it anymore.'

Don sat on a bench in the outer office, watching the school empty out of first students, then most of the staff. The Enjo's came first, and disappeared with Ben into the inner office. When they left, the Enjo's looked more exasperated than mad, then it was Sonny Burnett's turn. His parents came out looking amused, while Thompson looked sour. Sonny winked at Shane and Don and gave a thumbs up before Shane and the Anderson's went into the principal's office. When they came out, the Andersons looked strained, and Shane deflated.

Don did his school work and waited tepidly for his own turn. He wasn't eager to face his parents, but he did want to get out of this school.

Finally, Charlie in tow, Mom and Dad arrived. Don glanced at their stern faces, and his heart sank. 'It was a joke,' he thought. But then Mr. Thompson was there, "Mr. and Mrs. Eppes? This way please. Don, you too. Charlie? Would you mind waiting here?"

Charlie nodded, and sank down on the bench Don had used. The three older Eppes followed the principal into his office. Don couldn't help but notice the door was left open. 'GREAT! The little geek would get to hear everything.'

Alan and Margaret had braced themselves, but they weren't prepared for what they heard. "Deep Throat?" gasped Margaret, her mind spinning. "Really? Deep Throat?" Now where in the world had her son unearthed that old chestnut? She glanced at Alan, and realized he was fighting back a laugh.

"I appreciate the humor in the situation," said Thompson, dryly, "but this was suppose to be a flim showing seniors their options after graduating. Some of the kids were shocked, and I'm sure I'll hear from many angry parents. Not to mention we'll have to reschedule the movie the kids were suppose to see.

"Just for a prank, your son and his friends caused a major disruption of the school. All four boys have a month's detention, and we wanted their parents to be aware of the trouble they caused."

There was a moments silence while Alan and Margaret absorbed this, then they exchanged looks. Alan cleared his throat, "Could we have a minute please?" Thompson nodded, and Alan and Margaret withdrew to the side for a hurried, whispered conference. Don watched them nerviously, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. It was even worse than he could imagine.

Alan advanced toward him, holding out his hand and saying, "Okay Don. Keys."

Keys? They were taking his wheels away from him?

"How will I get to school?" Don argued.

"Take the bus!" snapped his dad. The bus? The bus was for losers.

"A car is an adult previlige, and you have to behave like an adult to have one."

Don tried a counterarguement, "How about Charlie? How will he get to school?"

"That's our problem! Your problem is to grow up and stop causing trouble. Now give me the keys."

Reluctantly, Don fished them out of his pocket and turned them over. "The clutch is a little tricky."

"I'll manage," snarled Alan. "It won't be the first time. Charlie will ride home with your mother. We'll see you when you get there. Oh, your grounded for a month too."

Don gaped at his parents, while the meaning of his father's words sank in. "I don't even get to ride with you? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not," replied Alan, mildly. He addressed a decidedly pleased Principal Thompson, "We apologize for our son's behavior. I assure you we don't take it lightly."

Thompson smiled, "Thank-you. If all parents were like you, my job would be much easier." He nodded at Don, "See you tomorrow. Don't forget detention."

Don scowled, then followed his parents out. They collected Charlie, then Don went to his locker while the others headed for the parking lot. Throwing his books in his locker and slamming the door shut, Don thought 'At least I don't have to carry these stupid books home.' He lingered, waiting to make sure his family was out of sight before he started walking-WALKING- home. It was going to be a long walk.

Normally the popular Don Eppes would have no trouble caging a ride, but at this point the school was deserted. Even the after-school activities were over, and only a few janitors and the principal were still in the school.

Don slowly made his way out of the school and started the long walk home. There was no rush after all. He was pretty much going to be stuck in his room when he did get home.

Halfway home he cut through a small park, and hesitated, eyeing a bench. A rational part of him urged him on, but another, resentful part whispered , 'Take your time. Who cares?' 'I do,' answered his stomach. 'I'm HUNGRY!' 'But I'm tired' whined his feet. 'Can't we take a break?"

Don decided to listen to his resentment and his feet, and after drinking from a water fountain to appease his stomach, plopped down on the bench. He watched some young kids, about five years old, playing enviously. Not that Don wanted to be five again, of course. But still, life had been easier back then, before Charlie.

Don supposed he must have been spoiled. He really couldn't remember. He remembered everybody talking about the baby, and Mom getting fat. Once, she grabbed his hand and put it on her belly and he felt something move. It made him feel funny.

"That's the baby," Mom said. "It just kicked you!"

Don tried to imagine another person inside of him, and couldn't do it. He decided he was glad he was a boy, 'cause only girls had babies.

Now Don wondered if he would ever have his own wife, with his own baby, inside of her belly. 'Might not be bad,' he thought. But what if he had a child like Charlie? It was bad enough to have a brother like Charlie.

The better part of him whispered, 'It's not Charlie's fault. Don't blame him.' But another part screamed back, 'I don't care! I'm sick of Charlie! Charlie! CHARLIE! Everything's Charlie! Charlie needs this; Charlie wants that; Charlie thinks this; Charlie says that! What about Don?

When Don was ten, he went invisible. The chicken pox were going around, and Don woke up feeling bad. When he looked in the mirror, he knew why. He was covered with spots. Normally a sick day from school was a good thing, but it was Halloween.

They were having a party at school and he was going trick-or-treating that night. He didn't want to miss either. So he got ready for school, and crept downstairs, expecting his mother to send him right back to bed.

She didn't notice. She fed him breakfast, kissed him goodbye, and sent him off to school, her mind so taken up with all things Charlie that she never even looked at Don.

He made it half a block to Nate's house. Nate, unlike Mom, looked at him and said, "You've got the chicken pox!" and ran and got his mom. Nate's mom came out and looked at him, and said, "Donnie, you've got to go home. I'll call your mother."

Shamefaced, Don trudged back home. Mom met him outside the house, finally really LOOKED at him, and exclaimed, "You have got the chicken pox!" Then she hustled him off to bed. He missed the party and trick-or-treating. And he knew his parents couldn't see him anymore, they were too blinded by Charlie's brillance.

When he was twelve he lost his voice. He was named MVP of his baseball team and got a trophy. No one was there of course. Mom had taken Charlie to a tutor, and Dad was working to pay for the tutor.

But Don thought for once he could dominate the supper talk. He could show his trophy and brag how he how won it. Those dreams had evaporated when he walked through the front door and Charlie hurled himself at Don screeching, "Donnie! Donnie! Guess what? I'm going to be on the cover of a magazine!" Time was doing an article on prodigies, and was putting Charlie on the cover.

At supper, Don sat silent, listening to Charlie yammer on and on about the questions the reporter had asked, and the pictures the photographer had taken. Don looked at his parents' faces, glowing with pride, and finally conceded defeat. Being MVP seemed so small and shabby compared to a magazine cover.

He could never win. His best was a drop in the bucket compared to his brother's worst. Nothing he could do would ever measure up to what Charlie would do.

That night he snuck outside and smashed his cheap trophy with a hammer and threw the pieces away in the outside trash.

It was weeks before his parents found out about his being MVP. They wanted to see the trophy, but he said he couldn't find it. They asked him why he hadn't told them, but he just shrugged, having already retreated into silence. It was easier that way. And though you wouldn't think it, losing his voice was more painful than being invisible.

He knew, deep down, that this was why he got in so much trouble. Some attention, even bad attention, was better than none. When he was being punished, at least he knew his parents remembered his existence.

In a way, he liked it better when he was younger and was spanked. When someone is spanking you, you know they see you, or at least see your butt. That's better than not being seen at all.

Now he was grounded, and that was boring. But if he tried to sneak out, his parents noticed. So at least they were somewhat aware of him. He had succeeded in distracting them from all things Charlie.

Don sighed and glanced at his watch. He was startled to realize he had been sitting on the park bench for over an hour. Supper was long over. With the thought of supper, his stomach complained, loudly, about missing it. Don stood, stretched, and wavered, wondering if he should go home. 'They won't miss you' whispered his resentment. 'They probably didn't even notice you missed supper.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' answered the rational part of him. 'What are you? A drama queen? Okay, you'll never be as important as Charlie, not even to your own parents. But that doesn't mean you're not loved. Your life is a pretty good one. Go home to it.' This time he listened to reason and his hunger, and headed home.

Where was the boy? Margaret cleared the supper dishes slowly, hoping the front door would open and Don would walk in. She paused in putting the leftovers away, and decided to make up a plate for Don. Maybe, hopefully, he might actually microwave it and eat it. She stole a glance at Alan, already spreading his blue-prints all over her dining room table. He acted unconcerned, but she wasn't fooled. She saw him glance at his watch, then the front door, before frowning and staring at his blue-prints.

Charlie reluctantly sat down in the living room and picked up Beowulf. Don had already finished reading it.

Margaret sighed, and grabbed a legal brief before joining Charlie. She supposed Charlie got some reading done, but she stared sightlessly at her own paperwork, listening for Don's footsteps. She was pretty sure Alan was doing the same.

When the footsteps finally came, almost two hours later than expected, she felt her body sag with relief. Alan quickly straightened up, but Margaret had seen his shoulders drop with the sudden release of tension as well.

The front door opened and Don stepped in. Without a word, he headed right for the kitchen, his family watching him quietly. Margaret listened hopefully for the sound of the microwave being used, but wasn't surprised when she identified the sounds of a PBJ sandwich being made. Oh well, if he would just add some fruit from the basket it would be a healthy enough supper.

Don didn't bother going into the dining room, preferring to stand at the counter, wolfing down his sandwich, before washing it down with a glass of milk. Then he made another sandwich, and washed it down with another glass of milk. Ignoring the fruit, he grabbed some cookies and washed those down with more milk. They were out of milk. 'Good!' he thought, savagely. 'Let the little twerp go without his Cheerios for breakfast tomorrow!'

Walking through the dining room, heading for the stairs, Don announced to the room at large, "We're out fo milk." Pleased, he took the steps two at a time, went to his room, and slammed the door.

Margaret sighed, and forestalled her husband, already heading in anger toward the stairs. "Alan, please! I can't take any more tension tonight! I need to get out of the house for a while anyway. I'll just get some milk."

Alan swallowed his anger, "Alright, if that's what you want. But he was still rude."

Margaret smiled, tired, "I know. But please, just let this go." With that she fled, glad to be out of the house for a while.

Charlie, having finished his assigned reading, went upstairs, and hovered outside Don's room, wondering if his brother would let him in or not. He scratched lightly at Don's door, then eased it open, poking his head in, "Don?"

"Go away," answered Don, flatly.

Encouraged that Don didn't sound mad, Charlie opened the door the rest of the way, slipped inside, and closed the door behind him. Don was stretched out on his bed.

"I thought I told you to go away."

Ignoring Don, Charlie shifted on his feet, trying to think how to ask the questions that had been burning through his brain ever since this mornings assembly. Finally he just blurted out, "Do people really do that?"

Oh God. What did the nerd want now? Did people really do what? "What are you talking about?"

Charlie squirmed, "You know. The movie. The one you're in trouble over?"

Deep Throat. The impact of what Charlie was asking hit Don, and he sat up on his bed. Studying his brother's face, Don wondered wildly if insanity was bred in the Eppes or the Manns. Why else would he expose his kid brother to porn, knowing the curious little twit would come to HIM for answers.

Of course, he hadn't thought about Charlie bringing his questions to him. Truthfully, he hadn't thought about Charlie at all. But he should have. It was entirely typical of Charlie to expect Don to answer all his non-math questions.

Don sighed, and admitted he had no one to blame but himself. It was only fair he should be the one to deal with this. Feeling inadequate, Don tried to think of what to say. Dad had given had Charlie the talk, hadn't he? Charlie had some knowledge of sex?

"What do you know? I mean about sex?"

"I've had sex education!" said Charlie, indiginately. "But that's not how you make babies!"

No kidding.

"It's called oral sex Charlie. It ... just feels good." Charlie stared at him, wide-eyed. Don faltered, "Um...blow-jobs? BJ's? Giving head?"

"So people really do that?"

"Of course!" then remembering, "Foreplay! It puts people in the mood. But you don't HAVE to do it," added Don hastily. "Just if you want to. Guys do it to girls too." They had seen just a few minutes fo Deep Throat, and Don had rigged it to show Linda Lovelace giving head.

"But how? Girls don't have penises."

"Well, guys kiss or, um lick, you know, down there."

Charlie thought about that, "Do you think Mom and Dad do that?"

'Eeeeewwwww! Thanks Charlie, for putting an image in my mind I may never get out. Not that I won't try.'

Don looked at Chatlie's face, and manning up, lied through his teeth, "No, of course not."

"Do you? Sheila wanted to do that to you."

Again, no kidding. The thought had only been going through Don's mind about every... three seconds all day. Don lied again, "She was just joking. Trying to make Thompson mad."

"But if she really wants to, will you let her?"

"I'm grounded," pointed out Don.

"But you won't be grounded forever," offered Charlie.

Thank-God! Don knew would the first place he would go when he had a chance was to Sheila's, but he decided not to tell Charlie. "That's a long time away. I'm not going to worry about it."

He hoped that would satisfy his little brother, and Charlie would leave. Instead, Charlie stood awkwardly, eyes darting around Don's room, obviously wanting to ask more, but not sure how. Studying him, Don unexpectedly felt a twinge of sympathy.

'Poor little twerp. He's only 12. He should be with other kids his own age, not a senior in high school.' Don remembered how horrible puberty was. His feelings were all over the map, and he felt uncomportable in his own skin. The first time he had managed to make himself ejaculate had been such sweet relief.

He had at least had friends who were experiencing the same feelings. Who did Charlie have?

'He has you,' whispered a very inconvenient voice, that Don wished to ignore. 'I don't know what to tell him,' he tried to argue.

'You were the one who switched the right movie with Deep Throat! You exposed him to this! What did you expect?'

'But the kid's so strange! Who knows if he has normal sexual urges? He's all about math.'

'No one's that different. Of course he has normal sexual feelings. Why else would he be here asking you these things?'

Don sighed, and gave in. He looked at Charlie uncertainly, "Um... you know... it's okay to ... um... touch yourself, right?"

Charlie nodded seriously, "Masturbation."

Don was relieved, "Yeah, jacking off. Everyone does it. Or has done it. It's okay to do it."

Charlie nodded again, and Don coming to a sudden decision, and hoping it wasn't a mistake, got up and went to his closet.

"Here Buddy, I've got something for you." Pushing around some boxes, he pulled one out and riffled through some magazines. Picking out a few rather soft porn Playboys, he handed them to Charlie. "Take these to your room, look at them, and do, you know, whatever feels good."

Charlie's eyes got big. One of the magazines fell open to the centerfold and he closed it quickly. Clutching the magazines tightly, as if he were afraid Don would grab them back, he asked, "I can keep these? Really?"

Don nodded, "Yeah, it's cool."

"Thanks," Charlie started backing up slowly to the door, then stopped, looking anxious. "It's okay, isn't it?"

"What? Yeah, I said you can have them. Just try to hide them from Mom, alright?"

Charlie nodded impatiently, "Yeah... but I mean... the movie." He looked at Don imploringly. "It's okay... that I... kind of liked watching it?"

There was a moment of silence, then gales of laughter as Don collapsed on the bed. "Yeah Buddy, it's fine," he gasped, "it just means... you're normal."


End file.
